KELBROOK PART 4
In 1956 I was twenty years old and no stranger to pubs. My introduction had been the Royal Oak at Whatcote, Warwickshire when I was farming there in 1953. The pub dated back to 1168, the beer and cider was drawn straight from the casks at the back of the bar, it was every tourist's dream of a 'traditional' village pub on the green. (But they hadn't found it then!) The Craven Heifer was a different building, you could drop it in the main street of any town in NW England and it wouldn't be out of place. However, like the Royal Oak it was a village pub with its unique blend of regulars and loyalties, it was a community in itself and it helped if you were introduced properly. My entry ticket was Eddie Lancaster as we wended our way home to Sough after making sure that Nelson had its milk for the next morning's delivery. We always parked the old Bedford wagon facing downhill on Vicarage Road opposite the pub and running down to the beck and the church. The old wagons only had 6 volt batteries and it was good practice to park where you could run off and use the slope to start the engine. Vicarage Road continued up the side of the pub, not surprisingly, to the vicarage which stood behind the pub. The road was unmade then and I never went up it. Opposite the pub on the main road was Albert's Chippy, a wooden hut famous for the best fish and chips in the district. This was important to a growing lad like me who tended to get the munchies after a couple of pints, I worked like a horse so I ate like one. Gladys only sold stew and hard so a quick trip to Albert's for fish and chips twice gave a good landing ground for the beer. The wonder is that my weight was rock steady at 168lbs, those were the days!
As you entered the Heifer the door to the Tap Room was on the right, men only, hard core regulars and I think I only ever went in there once. In those days all proper pubs had tap rooms and some had better rooms called 'snugs'. Straight forward was a passage to the back and the toilets. To the left was the main room, the bar was on the right hand wall, the fireplace was at the end and there was a long bench under the window and some tables and chairs. Like many Massey's pubs, the floor was black and white tiles kept spotless by Jim. There was never any problem about us being in our overalls, a privilege of being a regular. The end seat on the long bench, nearest the fire, was Mrs Turner's regular place and woe betide anyone who sat there and didn't move as soon as she came in! I was sat next to her one night with a live goose in a bag under the bench (don't even ask...). Its head was poking out of the tied up neck of the bag and at one point it pecked Mrs Turner's leg. I was not popular!
Dobbin Berry and Charlie Lancaster were local farmers and inseparable, they always sat together on the bench. Years later I had a look in the graveyard and they were buried near each other as well. Nice. They were always good for a story. I was talking to them one day after they had been to Gisburn Races. I asked how they had got on and Dobbin said they had done well, they'd backed every winner bar the last one and if they'd had any money left they would have backed that one as well. That raised a laugh because everyone knew what had happened, the horses were all short priced favourites and Dobbin and Charlie had been spending more on beer in the bar than the profits. One thing I always noted about the old ones, they drank gills of bitter, a gill is officially a quarter of a pint but in pub parlance was always a half pint glass. It was quite amazing how much they could put away in gills, no publican ever objected to the measure. They were discussing doctors one day and Charlie opined that Arthur Morrison in Earby was a wonderful man. Dobbin disagreed and told of how he had been down to see Arthur about a lump on the back of his hand. Arthur asked him to put his hand on the desk while he examined it and suddenly picked up a book and gave the offending lump a smart crack. This burst the ganglion cyst, the classic cure for the ailment but Dobbin reckoned he was a 'Cruel B****r! Dobbin always wore an old tan Burberry raincoat and one Monday after a day at Skipton Auction he have me a handful of small pieces of twist tobacco. He had decided that he had given so much tobacco away that he'd ask all his mates for a bit of twist. He came back with a pocketful and thought it was rare sport!
We soon got to know all the regulars and some of their business. Two blokes and a woman were regulars, always together and I was told that they were both bothering with her but shared her during the week! One of Wild's drivers was a regular at weekend, always dressed up and with a white poodle under his arm. The word was that he was a smart lad, had done time in gaol at one point and used the opportunity to study law. I heard plenty of stories about him and think this might have been true. George Ashby, the owner of Ouzledale Foundry, was a regular and was always chauffeured by one of his drivers, a man called Widdup. These were powerful men and a law unto themselves. Bob King told me that George once called in at the Heifer for a cup of tea and said to Jimmy Talbot “Have you ever seen a flying saucer?” Jimmy said no so George threw his saucer through a fancy window in the bar. “You have now. Send me the bill!” and with that he left. Bob said that nothing ever came of it and he reckoned it was just George demonstrating that he could do anything he wanted. Bob also told me about George Smith who was the paper bloke in the village at the time when Fonce Hoole was spoiling the beer. His brother Gilbert kept the Anchor Inn at Salterforth so George always drank there even though his shop was next to the Heifer.
I'm in full flow here! Can't stop now! I shall return next week....
Kelbrook Church around 1900.
. The joys of getting older